The world turned upside down in an instant. Literally.
Izayoi Sakamaki was used to trusting his instincts, and when a strange letter invited him to leave his familiar reality, he accepted the challenge without hesitation. Not for the sake of escape, but for the sake of exploration. But what was happening now went beyond any predictions.
He was falling.
Beneath him, at an unthinkable depth, lay a panorama that defied the laws of physics: a giant world under an artificial dome, the "Little Garden" mentioned in the invitation.
"Not a bad start!" he shouted into the void, enjoying the freefall. "If this is a resort, I'm loving the service already!"
He tucked his body, bracing for a landing in the massive lake visible below. The velocity was excessive, but for his body, this was no more dangerous than jumping off a sofa.
However, the Universe apparently had other plans for him.
It didn't feel like teleportation. It looked as if reality itself had cracked. A black rift, exuding an ancient, heavy energy, tore open right in his path, blocking the view of the "Little Garden."
"Hey, this isn't on the itinerary!" Izayoi managed to growl before the darkness closed over him.
He had no time to maneuver. The rift swallowed him whole, and the sensation of falling was replaced by total disorientation. Gravity shifted vectors, the pressure spiked. His body, adapting to the new conditions, readjusted instantly, but the impact was inevitable.
BAM!
The sound of the impact was like a meteorite strike. Ancient floor slabs, which hadn't seen sunlight in thousands of years, shattered into gravel. A cloud of age-old dust billowed up, filling the space with a suffocating fog.
Silence.
Izayoi stood up, lazily dusting off his blazer. Not a scratch. His body could have withstood a much rougher landing, but his clothes had suffered, which caused mild irritation. He adjusted the headphones around his neck and, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, looked around.
"Great, fresh from the dry cleaners," he grumbled, adjusting the headphones hanging around his neck. "Hey, who's in charge of logistics here? I'd like to see the complaint book."
No answer followed.
Izayoi kept his hands in his pockets and surveyed his surroundings. His violet eyes, accustomed to seeing the essence of things, instantly scanned the environment.
It was an ancient chamber. Vaulted ceilings, columns covered in carvings, the smell of stagnant air. The architecture resembled a mix of antique temples and something more archaic, something forgotten by history.
He moved toward the center of the hall, stone grit crunching under his boots. There, on a dais, stood a statue of a winged woman holding a book. But as soon as he approached, the air around the statue thickened.
The stone began to exude a soft but intense golden light. The space filled with a strange heaviness—not physical, but atmospheric. It seemed the air itself became dense, saturated with some unknown energy that would have stolen the breath of an ordinary human. The golden light coalesced at the pedestal, and from it, as if woven from rays and memory, a silhouette manifested.
It was a woman in white robes. Her form was translucent, wavering, but her face was distinct. A beautiful face, full of quiet sorrow, belonging to someone who had left this world long ago.
Izayoi stopped, tilting his head slightly to the side. He didn't sense a threat. This wasn't a guard, but rather a hologram. A recording. An echo.
The woman opened her eyes. Her gaze seemed to pierce right through him.
"I have waited..." her voice sounded like the rustling of dry pages, echoing off the walls. "I have waited for the one who will come to change the era."
She opened her eyes fully and looked at Izayoi. And in that moment, her solemn expression faltered.
Instead of a noble hero in shining armor, before her stood a brazen teenager in an unbuttoned school uniform, looking at her like a museum exhibit that was blocking the way to the buffet.
"Strange..." her voice was quiet, like the whisper of an ancient tome. "The threads of fate did not point to your arrival. You are not from this era. And, it seems... not even from this world."
Izayoi smirked with the corner of his mouth. His posture remained relaxed, but his gaze was sharp.
"You've got pretty good eyesight for a ghost," he remarked with light irony. "My flight really was redirected a bit without my consent. So, care to enlighten your guest on where exactly I've ended up?"
The ghost ignored his tone. She was too old and too dead to be offended by insolence.
She began to fade. The light dimmed.
"My role here is finished, child of the stars. Whoever you may be, outlander... find the one who guides to the final journey. Perhaps she will understand why fate brought you here. Farewell."
The light began to die out. The structure supporting her image was disintegrating. She had said her piece and now, obeying the laws of the universe, she was departing into non-existence.
Izayoi raised an eyebrow. This was categorically unacceptable to him.
"Hey, easy now," he threw out. "You seriously think you can just drop a pretentious speech and vanish?"
The figure continued to melt away. She could no longer hear him in the conventional sense; the departure process had become irreversible. for any resident of this world, this would be the end. You cannot argue with the laws of nature.
Izayoi stepped forward.
"I didn't give permission for this audience to end," his voice carried the authority inherent in those who are used to the world revolving around them.
He closed the distance between them in an instant. Using no tricks, simply moving faster than reality could process.
His hand reached for the ghost's vanishing, translucent arm.
By all laws of logic, he should have grasped emptiness. Light and memory possess no density. But Izayoi Sakamaki existed outside of accepted logic. His very essence was the denial of the word "impossible." For him, there was no difference between matter and concept.
Izayoi Sakamaki didn't give a damn about either set of laws.
His hand darted forward and seized the fading wrist of the mage.
GRAB.
The great mage, whose ghost was preparing to dissolve into eternity, suddenly froze. The golden light, ready to extinguish, flared up again. She looked with undisguised astonishment at her hand, which was being held by the warm, living palm of the youth.
The mana around them howled, protesting against such violence to reality, but Izayoi's grip was absolute. He wasn't just holding her—he was "anchoring" her existence with his will.
"Incredible..." she breathed, and the mask of centuries-old wisdom cracked, giving way to pure human shock. "You are touching a spiritual projection... physically? How is this possible?"
Izayoi didn't let go. He looked her in the eyes with a challenge and genuine interest.
"My world had its share of 'impossible' things too," he smirked, pleased with the effect he'd produced. "But where I'm from, we humans usually explain the rules before we leave."
He loosened his grip slightly, but didn't release her hand completely, making it clear that the conversation was far from over.
"So don't be in a rush to dissolve, ghost. I've got a pile of questions, and you're the only source of info in this dump."